


Delphinium

by lemnerd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, High School AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-04-20 18:49:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14267340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemnerd/pseuds/lemnerd
Summary: “Stiles, not to pry, or anything, but why in God’s name are you sitting underneath the table.”“He’s hiding from Derek.” he hears Scott’s cheerful voice. Dammit, Scott. He shouldn’t have told anyone.Lydia crosses one leg over the other. “The one who works at the bookshop and plays with stray cats and reads poetry anthologies?”“There’s a lot of judgement in your voice, Lyds.” Stiles says.“Because I’m judging you,” she says.Or the one where Stiles keeps cherry lip balm in his pen case and Derek likes to paint his nails. A high school AU no one really asked for.





	Delphinium

_God_.

Sitting in APUSH is Stiles’ least favorite activity of the day.

He’s trying to concentrate on learning about Colonial Virginia, but it’s just so. Damn. Boring. He’s already asked for a bathroom pass twice this lesson, just so he didn’t have to listen to the teacher waffle on. And there’s still half an hour left. And Stiles can’t go on his phone, he just saw Greenberg get his confiscated. There is literally nothing that can save him from complete and utter boredom.

He zips open his pencil pouch and pulls out his lip balm. His lips _are_ starting to get a little dry. He takes some from the pot and puts it on his lips with his finger, trying hard to concentrate.

He turns to look around the room, when he notices the classmate he sits next to. Tall, hot, and Scary As Shit Derek Hale. With the biggest scowl on his pretty face, gripping his pen tightly.

And staring at Stiles’ lips judgmentally.

Stiles gulps.

“Uh, dude, is— is there a problem?” he tries to keep his voice from squeaking, talking quietly so he doesn’t disrupt the lesson.

“Your lip balm. It reeks.” Derek answers, without missing a beat. Still staring at Stiles’ lips.

Stiles pauses.

Okay. What.

“My lip balm... reeks.” Stiles says. Derek nods his head quickly, flaring his nostrils for emphasis.

This is the one instance that Stiles has no idea what to say.

“Um... I’m sorry?” is what he settles on. Licks his lips. Watches Derek’s scowl deepen.

Then Derek turns his head away from Stiles and Stiles quickly fumbles to close the lip balm tub and throw it deep into his bag before his classmate kills him. He checks the clock, heart racing and curses under his breath. Twenty-eight minutes left of class, and they’re going to be awkward. He clears his throat and stands up.

“Um. Uh. Can I-“ his voice cracks. Jesus. Ugh. Try again. “Sir, can I get a bathroom pass?”

The teacher raises his eyebrow. “For the third time, Mr. Stilinski?”

Shit. “Uh. My bowel is— I have... okay, fine. Nurse pass, then?”

“Stiles.”

“Office pass?”

“Sit down.”

Stiles feels his face go hot and sits down as the class starts laughing. God. He’d even be okay to be sent to the principal’s office. He just needs to get out of this classroom, for three reasons now. The boringness, the Derek Hale and now the class laughing at him.

&.

There’s a specific bookstore that Stiles tries to avoid going to at all costs. The only bookstore in the county. It’s called Evergreen Books. So far, he’s been successful. He’d never had any reason to go. He borrows books from the Beacon Hills Library if he needs any. But now, sitting in the Jeep with his dad on a Saturday, he grips the steering wheel, heart pounding.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to—“ Stiles gets cut off.

“Stiles, for the fifth and final time, we’re buying you new textbooks from Evergreen.” Dad says, a firmness in his voice.

“Dad, I don’t need new textbooks, and I don’t need you to come with me. I’m eighteen!”

“Okay, firstly, you do need new textbooks after Scott tore all them up on the full moon,” Dad starts, “and secondly, it’s been months since you and I went out together. I don’t care if you’re eighteen or eighty, I’m still your father and we’re going to do father-son things.”

Stiles twists round a curb. “And buying textbooks together is the best father-son thing to do.”

From the corner of his eye, he sees his dad smile. “Don’t be snarky with me, son. Now park the car.”

The Jeep is never easy to park in any position, so it takes a while. And with that while, he tries to calm his heart. He’s so, so nervous. More than he cares to admit. Dad has probably noticed by now, but doesn’t say anything and Stiles is very grateful for that.

They fumble — well, Dad calmly steps and Stiles fumbles — out of the Jeep. Before Stiles can even begin to compose himself or fix his hair, Dad’s pulling him into the little bookstore.

It smells really good. It feels really warm. The lights are dim and orange and cozy and there are little ottomans and couches near every shelf. The floor is a nice green carpeting and Stiles wants to sit here and drink a cup of coffee and snuggle into one of the comfy couches. Even with the bustle of people talking, the atmosphere stays ambient. And warm.

Stiles doesn’t know why the hell he’s never been here until now.

He turns to his dad, who has a soft, relaxed look on his face, and smiles. “Okay. Totally changed my mind, man. Let’s get those textbooks. Where...”

They find the shelf with ease, because of how well-organized the place is. Stiles finds a few of the books he wants, and his dad is over in the self-help-y book shelf. And its so. Warm. He can feel the warmth getting closer, literally engulfing him. Touching him, even.

Or, that could be the hand on his shoulder.

Stiles yelps, dropping all his books on the floor. He turns quickly and feels his cheeks warm to a splotchy pink.

Tall, hot, and Scary As Shit Derek Hale is standing there in a soft-looking light grey sweater and a surprised look on his face. His face looks so charming when he’s not frowning. When there’s no crease between his eyebrows.

Then Stiles remembers why he’s avoided going to this bookshop. Because Derek Hale works here. Regularly. And Stiles kind of hates him. They barely speak to each other, aside from the occasional ‘can I borrow a pencil?’ from Stiles and apparently Derek’s ‘your lip balm reeks’.

Which, by the way, can Stiles rectify that as being incredibly rude? He gets it, okay. Werewolf senses, and all that. But it was cherry lip balm, not freaking wolfsbane. Derek didn’t have to be such a dick about it.

And currently, his mouth is moving and Stiles can’t hear a word he’s saying.

“What?” he says a little too loudly. Then winces. “Sorry. I just. What did you say?”

Derek’s ears turn pink and Stiles is going to have a heart attack too young.

“I, uh. Said. I said that you’re getting the wrong textbook for US History.”

Is Derek Hale being shy? And blushing? What the hell is happening?

“Your ears are pink.” Stiles says.

Derek scowls. He looks away, then bends down and picks up Stiles’ textbooks. He hands them to him and Stiles can’t help but notice that _Derek’s nails are painted black._

“Your nails are black!” Stiles says.

Derek glares. “Are you just going to name the colors of things?”

Stiles feels his neck get hot in embarrassment. “Sorry. I just. I never knew you do your nails. They look,” _pornographic_. “Um. Really, uh. nice.”

“That’s because you only see me in school. And there’s — the school has a dress code. I can’t come to school with my nails done.” Derek looks very uncomfortable.

“You don’t— no one follows the dress code, dude. Lydia comes to school with her nails done. So, yeah.” Stiles can’t stop staring at Derek’s fingers. And biceps. And pecs through his sweater. “Uh. Um. What was... what were you saying before?”

Derek rolls his eyes. He grabs a book off the shelf and puts it in Stiles’ hand and then walks away, ass in view and manicured fingers by his side.

 _Fuck my life_. he thinks.

&.

“Stiles?” Lydia asks.

“Yes, dear?” he manages through chewing his sandwich.

“Not to pry, or anything, but why in God’s name are you sitting _underneath_ the table.”

Stiles pats at Lydia’s smooth, shaven leg and the toe of her red stiletto. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lydia kicks him in the head. Stiles yelps. He really does not appreciate his friends abusing him, especially with a very sharp shoe.

“He’s hiding from Derek.” he hears Scott’s cheerful voice. Dammit, Scott. He shouldn’t have told anyone.

“Derek... the elf-looking one or the nerdy one?” Lydia asks, in the most judgmental tone Stiles has ever heard.

“The one who’s always angry.” Kira supplies. She’s wearing yellow converse with penguin socks today. Her feet are bouncing around and swaying happily. Probably because she’s sitting next to Scott. Those two are stupid for each other.

Lydia crosses one leg over the other. “Always angr— the one who works at the bookshop and plays with stray cats and reads poetry anthologies?”

“There’s a lot of judgement in your voice, Lyds.” Stiles says.

“Because I’m judging you,” she says.

If Stiles could see her face, she’d probably be doing that little sneer and tilt of head. The ‘you’re stupid’ face. He gets that a lot from her.

“Stilinski, you’re hiding from Derek Hale?” Jackson says with a scoff. He’s wearing dumb Gucci shoes.

The bell rings and Stiles does not have time for his friends’ and Jackson’s B.S, so he quickly crawls out from underneath the table. He straightens himself out, smoothing his clothes and brushing the dirt off of his jeans. Students are leaving the cafeteria quickly and Scott gives him a quick bro-hug before walking off to his next class. Lydia turns to look at him, a weird expression on her face.

“Just so you know,” Lydia says, “he’s pansexual. And single. And probably more scared of you than you are of him.”

Stiles feels his neck get hot. “Uh. Why.” he clears his throat. “Why’re you— why are you telling me this?”

Lydia gives him a beautiful smile. “Just thought you may want to know.”

Fuck Lydia. Stiles could have lived his whole life without knowing that. He doesn’t need to know that information at all. That Derek is. Single. And available. And possibly likes boys.

Lydia smirks. She turns on her stupid heels and walks away slowly.

Whatever. Stupid Lydia.

Stiles prepares to walk out of the cafeteria, then falters when he realizes:

He has APUSH next.

Dammit.

APUSH actually goes okay. Stiles is just being dramatic. Stiles doesn’t pull out his lip balm so Derek doesn’t said anything the whole lesson. Stiles does, however, catch him raising an eyebrow when Stiles pulls out the wrong textbook for US History.

(He couldn’t buy the one Derek recommended. It reminded him too much of Derek’s manicured fingernails against the cover. )

  
&.

Stiles always visits his mother with flowers in his hand. Today it’s a trio of carnations, which he places slowly atop her grave before sitting in silence. He never talks to her. People around could be listening. And besides, he feels she’s always looking over him, anyway. He traces his fingers over her gravestone like he’s done thousands of times now. It’s sombre. There are no tears. Stiles will save them for tonight when he locks himself in his bedroom and lays in bed.

He looks over to his left and sees a familiar figure. Derek. He doesn’t look his usual snarky self as he walks around the cemetery, hands in pockets and shoulders hunched over. Stiles wants to talk to him, but he knows that the worst thing to do is disturb the grieving.

Except, he doesn’t just look grieving, he looks worried. Extremely so. And Stiles feels a bit of him ache at that. He sits a while, watching Derek pace and it makes him itch so much that he has to see what’s wrong. He scuffs at his shoes and slowly makes his way over to the werewolf.

The aforementioned werewolf startles so much when Stiles calls his name.

“What.” he says, throat hoarse.

“Are you, uh. Are you okay? I don’t want to seem invasive, but I— you don’t. You don’t seem okay.” Stiles says.

Derek’s eyes are unblinking. “Uh.”

“Are you... is there something wrong?”

Derek gulps. Stiles has never seen him like this. “I cant. This is— this is going to sound so stupid, I swear, but I can’t, uh. I forgot to get my sister a flower and the cemetery closes really soon. In like, five minutes. And I can’t— I can’t go buy one.”

His sister... Stiles’ eyes widen. His sister. Laura Hale. The one who died in a forest fire a few years ago.

Stiles clears his throat. “Did you— did you maybe... I can give you one. To give to her.”

Derek shakes his head quickly. “No. That’s— you can’t—“

Stiles walks to his mother’s grave and breaks one of the carnations off of the trio. He hands it to Derek, and Derek holds it with such delicacy Stiles wasn’t sure he was even capable of.

“Do you really...” Derek whispers. His eyes are hooded as he looks at Stiles. “Can I really have this?”

“Yeah.” Stiles says. It comes out a lot more meaningful than he intends. He bites his lower lip. “This seems important to you.”

“She loved flowers.” Derek’s eyes turn admiring and sad. “Knew the meaning of every one of them.”

Stiles puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re not really eighteen, are you?” Because he seems far too broken for an eighteen-year-old.

Derek shakes his head, attention entirely on the little carnation. “I’m turning twenty-two soon.”

Stiles furrows his eyebrows. “You’ve been held back for four years?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t cope after Laura died. My grades started dropping. My dad hated that. Made me re-do every time I failed the exams.”

Stiles winces. “I’m sorry.”

Derek looks at him. Straight into his eyes. It makes Stiles’ mouth go dry. “It’s okay. It’s not all that bad. There are some really good things. And people.”

&.

Stiles wonders what that means for days after.  
  
&.

The bell rings and Stiles thanks God as hurries to stuff his bag and run out of the horrible History classroom. APUSH at the end of the day is basically torture. He revises in his head what he has to do today. Drop Scott off at Kira’s, finish a paper, do some chemistry homework, and masturbate a lot after he saw Scary As Shit Derek Hale walk into class with a delicious shade of navy blue painted onto his nails.

Stiles really shouldn’t have encouraged him to wear nail polish in school.

So he spent the lesson torturing Derek right back, slathering cherry lip balm all over his lips. Serves him right. That asshole.

Stiles is just getting to his car when he hears quick footsteps behind him. And turns. And sees Derek kind of charging at him. What the fuck.

Stiles sputters when they’re face to face. “Uh. Um.”

Derek glares at him. “ _God_. You’re so annoying.”

It stings a little more than it should. Stiles huffs. “Says _you_. Fuck you, man.”

Derek looks taken aback, but ploughs through. “Fuck _me_? Fuck _you_!”

Stiles feels the anger bubble up inside of him. He’s been nothing but nice to Derek, and suddenly he’s getting some sort of hate confession for no damn reason. He grits his teeth. Derek’s almost twenty-two, but sure acts like a stupid child.

“I hate your dumb nails!” he shouts, without meaning to.

Oh shit. Ohhhhh, shit.

Derek’s eyes widen and cheeks redden and he looks self-consciously at his hands.

He messed up.

 _It’s fine. It’s an argument. It doesn’t have to make sense._ _Keep going, just go with the flow_. he tells himself.

“And your stupid fucking eyes. I mean, what color are they anyway?!”

Derek mumbles something like ‘hazel’. Stiles continues, fuming. “I can’t even fucking... I can’t even concentrate in class because of you!”

That seems to prod Derek. “ _You_ can’t concentrate because of _me_?! You’re the one with the stupid lip balm!”

Stiles laughs. “ _Lip balm_?! It’s fucking cherry lip balm! I don’t understand what your problem is—“

“God dammit, Stiles! It’s not the that, you idiot! It’s your mouth, okay!”

Stiles stops. As in, like, stops functioning. He manages a vaguely questioning noise or gesture or something, before Derek repeats it.

“It’s your mouth... it’s not. It’s not....” it’s not the smell of the lip balm that drives him crazy.

It’s his mouth. “My...” Stiles can’t get it out.

Derek produces a bright blue flower out of nowhere. “I can’t stand you. You make me so angry. And crazy. And sometimes I feel like I hate you. But. I...”

He presses the flower into Stiles’ hand.

“Delphinium.” Derek says, “It means that I’m open. To, uh.” Derek takes a breath. “Open to new emotions and feelings.” he gulps. “In a— in a romantic sense.”

Stiles has never felt more... just. Confused. And in love. And Derek is no longer ‘Scary As Shit’. He’s cute. And brave. And incredibly determined. It makes Stiles feel all sorts of ways. Butterflies flutter in his stomach. And. And he can feel flames skim across his cheeks and dance around his jawline.

Or, that could be Derek’s manicured fingers.

“Can I...” Derek says, and Stiles can’t look at him, at anyone.

“Yes! Just kiss already!” Scott’s voice comes from somewhere, and Stiles suddenly remembers they’re in the school parking lot.

Stiles considers carefully. “Maybe we should... maybe we should move somewhere else before you start kissing me.”

Derek smiles, really smiles, with flushed cheeks and pearly teeth and pink lips, then gives Stiles the best, most thorough kiss he has ever received, right in the parking lot.

&.

Chemistry will never not be hell.

The clock ticks away and Stiles doodles in his margins. Allison keeps scolding him, aggressively whispering at him to listen so that he doesn’t miss out on any information. It’s just so, damn, boring. There’s still about twenty minutes left of the lesson, and Stiles just can’t handle it.

His phone pings on the table, and Stiles discretely swipes it open, trying to hide his grin when he reads the message.

**‘Guess what color my nails are today.’**

Then another message comes.

**‘By your locker. I managed to get out of class. Get your ass over here.’**

Allison rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile on her face. “Go on. I’ll let you copy off my notes later, loverboy.”

Stiles can’t stop the smile from creeping onto his face. He lets out a dreamy sigh. Butterflies dance in his stomach. All the clichés. He feels like he’s on cloud nine, whatever the hell that means. He’s just happy. Really, really happy.

He gets up. “Sir, can I get a bathroom pass?”

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: added some minor changes


End file.
